For several weeks nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Dale worked hard, early and late, and for this Peter Odell gave him something extra to do, with extra pay. By this means the young lumberman was enabled to save more than usual, and one Saturday afternoon he had the satisfaction of sending Hen McNair a letter containing Peter Odell's check for the balance due the close-fisted riverman. "That wipes out the last of my father's debts," said Dale to Owen. "I can tell you it makes me feel like a different person to have everything paid." "I believe you, Dale. My father didn't leave any debts, but I had to square up for the funeral, and that was no small sum." "Now all I have left to do is to square up for the horse that was stolen." "What was he worth?" "I don't know exactly. I asked Mr. Larson, but he said to wait a while, that Jerry might turn up somewhere." So far the only word received concerning Baptiste Ducrot was through an old riverman, who had once seen the French-Canadian in a drinking resort near the upper end of Moosehead Lake. What had become of Ducrot after that nobody knew. The summer was drawing to an end, and still the sawmill at Larson's Run remained idle. It was impossible to get logs, and soon Peter Odell began to complain. "I shouldn't be surprised if we had to shut down too," said Owen one day. "If we do, Dale, what are you going to do?" "I'm sure I don't know. This is certainly a hard year in the lumber trade." "I don't believe it is as hard elsewhere as it is in Maine. My uncle, Jack Hoover, who owns a lumber camp out in Michigan, wrote that he was as busy as ever. He said I might come on if I couldn't find anything to do here." "Why don't you go?" Owen drew down the corners of his mouth into a peculiar pucker. "You wouldn't ask that if you knew my Uncle Jack," he said. "Anything wrong?" "Uncle Jack is a worker--morning, noon, and night, and between times. He never knows when to stop, and he expects everybody around him to work just as hard or harder. Fact is, he's a regular slave driver. And in addition to that he's as close-fisted as Hen McNair." "In that case, I don't wonder you don't want to engage with him," said Dale, with a laugh. "Uncle Jack means well, but he never knows when to let up. I've heard my mother say that more than once. He was her step-brother. He started as a poor man, and when he went to Michigan he had less than a thousand dollars. Now he must be worth thirty or forty thousand, and maybe more." "I don't believe you'll be worth that, Owen; not if you have to save it yourself." "I don't want to be rich if I've got to slave like Uncle Jack. Money isn't everything in this world." "But you ought to save something. Supposing you got sick, or something else happened to you?" "Well, I'm going to start to save a little, some time." "The best time to start is now. Some time generally means no time. You can put away as much as I put away, if you try."